All the photos the internet would let me upload, more to come? I hope

Some of the crew (from left: Dani, Allie, and Caitlyn) at the equator!

A dilapidated anti-corruption sign on the equator, funny because Ugandan politicians are about as corrupt as it gets.

Caitlyn, our american reader, at the library of the National University of Rwanda in Butare.

Of Bucket Showers and Nightlife

Uraho,

I realized today that I hadn’t mentioned one of my favorite aspects of life in Rwanda (and I would assume Uganda), and that is the bucket shower. You may think I am kidding, but you would be sorely mistaken. The bucket shower is awesome. Let me explain. In my house here, there is a room with a bare light bulb, drain, clothes rack, and chair. On the chair rests what resembles a plastic trashcan, and may very well be; this is the bucket aspect of the bucket shower. When I rise every morning, and go outside to brush my teeth, the house boy (basically a servant), Celestin, brings me a jerry can or two of really hot water. I then get two jerry cans of cold water from the large water reservoir in our house and head to the aforementioned room

Once inside, I mix the hot and cold water in the bucket until I get my perfect temperature. Then, using a hard plastic cup I douse myself in water and soap up. It’s amazing how small an amount of water you actually need to clean yourself. I normally end up with half of the bucket left that I use to splash on the floor to clean up any soap or shampoo. It’s an impressively efficient way to bathe and really wakes you up in the morning. Who knows, I might try to bring the bucket shower back with me to Bowdoin.

Now for the second part of the title, the nightlife! So during the week Rwandans seem to wake up around 5:30-6:30 am and get to bed by 9 or 10 p.m. And last weekend due to the funeral of my host grandmother, my family didn’t do any weekendy things. But this weekend… wow. So I spent Friday night with most of the people in my SIT group at a café and a restaurant, pretty low key. But Saturday night was a whole ‘nother story. So two of my host cousins (out of the estimated 30 I have met), Allie and Aisha, asked me to join them on Saturday to go to a club, Club Cadillac. I agreed go when they asked me last weekend. Saturday rolled around and plans started being made. We would have dinner at 10 p.m., go out at 1 a.m. Sunday morning and get back at 8 a.m. WHAT?! That’s absurd. So I texted some of my SIT friends and asked them if they wanted to take one for the team and join me in this endeavor. I received a number of “are you crazy!”s. Great.

So 8 p.m. rolls around and my host brother Ashiraf asks me if I want to go to his friend’s party before we head out at 1. I figured why the heck not, it’s gonna be a long night anyway. So we headed to the other side of Kigali and met his friend Boris. After heading down some side-alleys we came to a house and went in and lo and behold… two fellow SIT muzungus, Caitlyn and Dani, who had come with their host siblings! Wonderful. We then signed our names onto an invitation to a party and headed out. After a brief walk past the US Embassy and SIT headquarters we reached Danico Villa. We showed our invite and walked in, were seated and then the madness began.

It turns out that we were at the birthday party of Rwanda’s premier producer and DJ, DJ Bob. Yes, that’s right, we were at DJ Bob’s party, jealous? You should be. Dani, Caitlyn, Ashiraf, Boris, and four other Rwandan friends and myself sat around a table and for the next two hours watched the arrival of DJ Bob to his party, followed by a long line of artists that DJ Bob had discovered and made famous in Rwanda who all thanked the man for what he had done. We were served free food and drinks, awesome. Us Muzungus really had no reason at all to be there but when DJ Bob made his rounds he greeted us with a handshake and a smile. It turns out that his ex-girlfriend just happened to be Caitlyn’s host sister. Sweet.

Well, after the introductions and praising the music started and for the next seven hours it kept on going. Turns out that Allie and Aisha decided to stay in so instead of going to Club Cadillac, we stayed at DJ Bob’s birthday all night… til 4:30 a.m. We met a horde of incredibly friendly Rwandans, including a wonderful man named Innocent who seemed to be some sort of organizer for the birthday boy. Innocent talked to us all night and was very interested in Dani, Caitlyn and I had to save her from overly friendly touches a number of times. Innocent even offered to take us camping at Lake Kivu over the next weekend. We nodded our heads and told him we would seriously consider it.

Late in the evening (or early in the morning), after DJ Bob had truly celebrated his birthday he discovered us Muzungus and wanted “pictures with our crew” which turned out to be just us white kids. We were told to look for the pictures the next day on the news. Hmmmm, will do.

We ended up getting home around 5:00 a.m. I slept til 12:30 p.m. on Sunday. Caitlyn, unfortunately for her had to get home at sixish and then had to go to church, where her Dad is a pastor, for six hours! That girl deserves some sleep. Heck of an evening. I’m truly impressed by the Rwandan party stamina, I’m used to the Bowdoin clock and fading by 2 or 3! All in all an interesting experience. Thank you DJ Bob for having a truly fascinating birthday party.

That’s all for me now. I head to Kibuye a town near Lake Kivu and the Rwanda/ Democratic Republic of the Congo border on Wednesday. Should be fun and interesting. I also get to visit the International Criminal Tribunal of Rwanda soon. This is where they tried some of the genocide perpetrators, again, should be incredibly interesting.

Muzungu currently trying to catch up on sleep thanks to DJ Bob in Kigali, Rwanda.

Blending in?

Wiriwe,

Technology is a wonderful thing. In the past two days I have talked to my parents, grandparents, and a number of friends, one in Argentina and a few at Bowdoin. Yet I still can’t upload photos quick enough to show you more visually where I am and where I am living and the people I am with. Hmmm.

Anyways, a recent thought of mine. If you are an American, of any color and creed, and you feel like you don’t get paid enough attention in your everyday life then you should seriously consider coming to a city like Kigali. You should also consider changing your name to Muzungu if you do make the trek. My morning walk to get to the taxt stop takes me about fifteen minutes. In that time I pass by a number of houses and stores as well as fellow commuters. That means I also pass by a large number of children under that age of ten. I mention this because to them, I must seem like an alien creature in their world. They stare for a while and then the inevitable “Muzungu” is shouted. Other children turn their heads and their eyes grow wide, indeed a muzungu walks among them. You would think that after a few weeks of making this exact same trek up this exact same hill that the novelty of my pale, freckled skin would wear off, but no, oh no no no.

Also, whenever someone greets me they assume I am either French, which earns me a “Bonjour,” or American, which earns me a “Hello.” When I respond in Kinyarwanda with a “Waramutse,” or a “Wiriwe,” the shock on peoples faces is simply magnificent. They are so surprised that any foreigner knows any little bit of their language. Unfortunately when they try to continue a conversation, my Kinyarwanda ultimately fails me and their surprise turns to laughter. I have some work to do on my language skills.

Transportation in Kigali is a wonderful process to be a part of. The city has a very well established taxi system with taxis that run to each part of town. It is incredibly easy to find them and the drivers are more then happy to help guide you to where you are trying to go. The cabs themselves are vans meant to fit probably twelve people comfortably, but due to high demand and the need to make a little cash, the operators are able to wedge about nineteen people into the van on a regular basis. They are awesome. Each taxi is decorated in it’s own personal theme. Many drivers choose to dedicate their vehicles to famous musical artists (Sean Kingston, Young Jeezy, Rihanna), others to sports teams and players (Arsenal is the most common, followed by Barcelona) and then there are some random ones (T-Bag?, No Jesus No Life). The rides are cheap, at most about 40 cents a ride.

The other forms of transportation are motos, which are motorcycle taxis that due to SIT’s insurance policy we are prohibited from riding, bummer, and also private hire taxis which charge about ten bucks a ride and frankly aren’t worth the price when the other taxis are so efficient and easy.

But as I was saying, transportation thus far has been relatively easy. Also, we have for the most part, besides our obvious American heritage, have avoided making scenes and making fools of ourselves in Rwandan society and culture, and fortunately, that changed today.

A few of us had stayed at the SIT offices after class to work on an essay we had due today. After working for a few hours and talking with Apollon, one of our Directors, we decided to head to the center of town (UTC). Normally this merely takes a short walk to the taxi stop where we hop on a bus headed to the UTC. We made the walk down and waited at the stop but we were having a really hard time getting a taxi with enough room for us. One showed up but a bunch of Rwandans rushed the cab and successfully boxed us out of the taxi and claimed their seats. After a few more failed attempts we decided to try a private hire taxi. There were six of us, me and five girls from the program, so we figured that we could split the cost a number of ways and it wouldn’t be too bad. So we pulled a cab over and four of us hopped in the back and two in the front seat. The driver looked at us like we were insane. He pointed to a police officer wielding a machine gun and told us that there was no way that he could legally transport us like that. We all piled out of the car, much to the delight of the onlookers, and resumed our posts on the side of the road. We then turned around to find a small group of children saying, wait for it…. “Muzungu!” and, although it was five in the afternoon, “good morning!” We tried out our Kinyarwanda on he kids and quickly realized that we were out of our league. Time to find another taxi. Finally, a bus pulled up and we all fit in, our public shaming had come to an end.

It is going to feel weird to come back to the States and be just another face in the crowd.

Muzungu currently sticking out like a sore thumb in Kigali, Rwanda

A Death in the Family

As I mentioned before my host grandmother passed away on Saturday evening, the funeral happened as soon as possible as is apparently done in the Islamic faith. The funeral was at 10 a.m. on Sunday.

When she died they brought her to the house and the women of the family cleaned and dressed the body. Apparently you aren’t supposed to sleep before the body is buried, so people were at the house all night, talking and drinking (fanta and coke, no alcohol). At 9:30 a.m., my friend David from my program, who just happens to also live in Nyamirambo, came by to join me for the funeral. It turned out that it was nice to have a fellow Muzungu to share the experience with.

When David arrived we headed into the compound where a whole lot of people were gathered. My host grandmother apparently had a huge impact on the people that surrounded her. There were a good 200 people packed into our courtyard. My host uncle Semy asked me to pay my last respects and so I entered the room where her body lay. They had stripped the bed of the sheets and mattress and she was surrounded by many women in their Islamic garb. Only her face was exposed. David and I were asked to pray for her and after doing so we left the room and took a seat on a couch in the courtyard.

Uncle Semy came and sat with us and a few minutes later a large green litter was brought in and placed in the middle of everyone. Soon, about eight men emerged carrying the body and gently placed her into the litter. They then covered her in a yellow cloth and the men then lifted her into the air and began to carry her to the mosque. All of the men followed. The women on the other hand were required to stay back at the house and do their mourning there.

David and I trekked up the hill and reached the mosque. After removing our shoes, we entered the mosque and joined a line of men. All the men lined up in about eight lines all facing toward the front of the mosque (and Mecca I think). A number of prayers were said for about fifteen minutes then we all filtered back out into the warm sun of an increasingly warm day. Then the crowd, again only the men, piled into a caravan of cars and drove to the graveyard. We walked up a hill to get to the grave, on the left side were the graves of the Christians, all decked out with crosses and tombstones, and on the right, bare hillside. We turned right. And in front of us was an open grave.

Many men gathered in a circle around the grave and waited for the arrival of the body. When the litter arrived, members of the family got into the grave and helped to lower the body to its final resting place. There was no coffin and the body was wrapped in cloth. After she was lowered into the grave, the men took turns passing around a few shovels and filling in the dirt that had been removed. After this, a man led a round of prayers. Apparently, according to Ashiraf my host brother, this man happened to be the head of the Islamic faith in Rwanda. Pretty cool. After the prayers everyone filed back to the cars and drove to the house.

Another important part of the Muslim funerary ceremonies is the three days after the death with are reserved for mourning. Ashiraf stayed home from school until Wednesday and people have been at the house literally 24 hours a day for the past three days. Needless to say, sleep has been a constant struggle as the walls here are thin and everyone likes to converse. It’s like a big social gathering, a place for people to catch up on life and to celebrate and remember the life of the deceased. My uncle Semy said that because a lot of the people here are unemployed, the free drinks and social aspect of the event give everyone something to do for three full days so people take full advantage and stay up all night to chat and remember.

All in all it has been an incredible process and experience to be a part of.

Now begins our first week full of classes and lectures. Our Academic Director Stephanie is off to Uganda for a training session but we still have Apollon and Issa, our other directors, to keep us in line and working hard. We head to visit some NGO’s tomorrow so I am interested to see what that entails but I will post again with my what goes on there.

Muzungu finishing the mourning process in Kigali, Rwanda

Wicked Long Update... prepare yourself.

Waramutse,

So I just got back from Butare in the south of Rwanda. Rwanda is one of the most beautiful countries I have ever seen. The whole drive down to Butare was over and around increasingly larger hills that are just spectacular. It also made me realize how small and full of people Rwanda is. For the entire drive houses lined the road and there was not one hillside that had not been terraced or altered in some way for growing crops. The valley floors are covered with fields, literally every inch of land is used for crops or housing. But I will talk more about Butare later.

HOMESTAY

I am now, as of a week ago, living with a Rwandan family. We live in the Nyamirambo part of town in the Rwampala section. The Nyamirambo district is a really vibrant and modern section of town. Every storefront is brightly colored and there is a music studio on every block.  The majority of Kigali’s Islamic population lives here as well and in the main section there are two sizeable mosques. I live down a long steep dirt road that is really horribly maintained, driving down it at night is comparable to bumping down a very slow and old wooden roller coaster, slow and painful but fun. Every morning to catch a taxi to class I have to climb up the hill and make my way to central Nyamirambo. During the day the ascent actually provides pretty nice views of Kigali.

I live in a sort of compound. There is a central courtyard with a number of adjoining rooms. I live off of the living room in a really great room complete with mosquito net and side table; unfortunately the mosquito net has now fallen down. I hope my malaria meds do what they are supposed to do!

My home stay family is wonderful. I live right across from my host brother, Ashiraf, who goes to boarding school during the week but lives at home on the weekends. He is fifteen. My home stay sisters are Camilla and Lamia and they both live at home and go to school at a local day school. My home stay father lives in Dubai I don’t think I will actually get to meet him but he seemed like a nice guy from a quick phone conversation I had with him. My home stay mom is great, but speaks very little English, so communication is sometimes hard. There is an older brother, an aunt, her child and two “house people” a.k.a. servants who live here. There is a visiting uncle as well, Semy, who lives in Belgium normally. His English is impeccable and he is very interesting to talk to.

The grandmother also lives here but unfortunately after I returned from Butare I learned that she had fallen into a coma the day before I got back. It sounds like she had a stroke. She is now in the hospital and it sounds like she is not doing well at all. I am in an awkward position seeing as I have only been here for a few days; I’m not quite sure how to handle the situation. I figure I might just lie low for a while and stay out of my family’s hair. Thoughts?

So I mentioned that I lived in a strongly Muslim neighborhood and that means that there are many mosques nearby. My family is a Muslim family, which I am very excited about. I think it will be fascinating to learn more about Islam especially with all the hatred so many Americans direct towards it. It has to be one of the most misunderstood religions in the world and I can’t wait to be right in the middle of it! But, as I mentioned, there are many mosques nearby which is interesting and great, BUT it also means that the calls to prayer at around 5:30 a.m. are seriously disrupting my sleep pattern.

Now a little about Rwandan food. I think I can sum it up in one word: Starch. Lots and lots of starch. For lunch and dinner EVERY SINGLE DAY we are served rice, spaghetti (?), cassava, French fries, beans, banana, and the occasional vegetable. Meat dishes differ; I have had goat, beef and fish. And when I say beef, I mean any part of the cow that may or may not be certified by the FDA. And when I say fish, I mean the entire freaking fish, head, tail, and scales. I also consume large amounts of tea. Rwandan tea is pretty great. I know this sounds strange, but if you drink the tea black with a spoon and a half, it tastes like you are drinking Fruit Loops. Awesome.

BUTARE

So in the middle of this past week I traveled with my group to Butare, a town two and a half hours to the south of Kigali. The drive down was beautiful. Two of the guys in my group, Robbie and David, and I caught a ride down with our Academic Director, Stephanie, and her cousin Micah, although I don’t think you spell it that way. The rest of the crew was in a matatu (taxi). Win for us. I don’t know if I mentioned this before but my group is awesome. Lots of really great people. There are fourteen of us in Kigali, wait, thirteen of us now as one girl unfortunately had to go home because of issues at home, Frieda will be missed. So now there are four guys and nine girls. Needless to say, us guys are bonding pretty well.

Once we got close to Butare we stopped in Nyanza to visit the palace of the last king of Rwanda. This place was incredibly interesting. They had created a replica of a traditional Rwandan house. It is basically a huge nearly dome shaped structure. In front is a horseshoe shaped porch. The interior of the structure was made of wood and the outside was thatched. Even in the midday heat, the inside of the building was incredibly cool.

The strange part of the place was the house the last King actually lived in. It looked like it was an adobe house straight out of the American southwest. Bizarre.

Our next stop was the Murambi Genocide site. I mentioned my visit to the Kigali Genocide Memorial earlier (also known as the Gisozi memorial). The Gisozi memorial was just a museum that had the intent to inform and explain the events and actors in the genocide. It played strongly to the intellectual and informational side in explaining the genocide to those who did not know about it. Murambi was a totally different experience.

Murambi itself was the actual site of the massacre of 50,000 Tutsi. Many of these people had been hiding in churches but the pastors and priests convinced them that a safer place to be would be the new Murambi technical school that was near completion. Little did the people know that the clergy were in league with the genocidaires. So Tutsi from all around flocked to the school. There they stayed thinking that they would be safe. A few days after their arrival, the Interahamwe (the militia responsible for the genocide) surrounded the school and proceeded to starve the Tutsi camped there. After a number of days, the killing began. The Interahamwe were sickeningly efficient. They killed up to 50,000 men, women, and children over the course of about a week. They then dug massive graves and dumped the bodies.

The site today is set up in order to maximize the emotional effect of the genocide on the outside observer. The memorial starts with a new mass grave for the victims of the site. Then you are taken to the classrooms in the back of the school. Here, they have taken the bodies uncovered from the mass graves, preserved them with lime, and have lain them out on raised platforms. The rooms are rife with the smell of death. The bodies are paper white because of the lime and all that remains are the bones and flesh. Some rooms contain just the bodies of men, others women, and other rooms have the bodies of children. It really brings home the fact that genocide is the literal attempt at extermination of an entire race or group. No one is spared.

They then show you the site where the French troops raised their flag. And also where they set up their volleyball court, which just happens to be a mere ten feet from the mass graves. It is not widely known but the French had a large role in the genocide in Rwanda in 1994. They helped supply the Hutu militias and train them before the genocide. Because of the support of the French the perpetrators of the genocide rightly believed that it would take the international community a long time to acknowledge and bring and end to the genocide. Something the international community never actually did.

Then they show you the clothes of all the people they unburied at the mass graves. Rows and rows of dirty, torn clothing.

It is incredible to me how quickly and efficiently the Interahamwe and Presidential Guard were able to carry out their sinister task. It is said that they were able to kill 1,000 people every 20 minutes. Just incredible. Genocide is not simple something that sneaks up on a country or people. This took many months of preparation and years of propaganda.

As you can probably guess the site at Murambi really affected a lot of our group very strongly on an emotional level. As hard as it was, I found it necessary to understand the true horrors of 1994.

We had the rest of the night off to relax and cope in our own ways with what we had seen that day. We stayed in a hostel run by nuns and, in a possibly sacrilegious bonding experience, moved all of our mattresses into one room and had a huge sleepover. In the morning the nuns were confused but amused.

That morning we went to the National Museum of Rwanda. It was an interesting place to go after the Murambi site. The museum focused entirely on Rwandan life and culture before the Genocide. It went over the natural history of Rwanda and then showed how traditional Rwandans made their houses, clothes, how the hunted, made baskets (really detailed, they take a whole week to make), and the games they played. They also showed how to make banana beer, basically you bury bananas with herb for three days, remove them and squeeze the juices out and then let those ferment for 3 more days and voilá… banana beer. We found out later that it taste like apple cider with a sharp vinegar aftertaste, yum?

In the back of the museum were a number of workshops where they wove baskets, made pots, and forged certain traditional items. All of the workers were orphans that the museum had taken in and trained in these skills. The museum then buys their products from them and sells them in the museum store. An interesting project but one wonders what these people are able to do after their apprenticeship is over; I am not sure how applicable to modern life in Rwanda skills like those are.

That afternoon we went and visited a women’s cooperative about an hour outside of Butare. The story behind the association is that after the genocide a Catholic (I think) priest came to their area and began to help these people find God in the aftermath in order to help them cope and begin to reconcile. He ministered to the victims on Thursdays and the perpetrators on Sunday. The post-genocide government told him that by teaching them separately he was only increasing the void between them and hurting the chances of reconciliation. So, he combined the groups, the widows of those who were killed and the wives whose husbands were in jail for killing the others husbands. At first, the widows of the victims were understandable entirely unforgiving, they hurled stones and the women who were bringing food to their incarcerated husbands. But, amazingly, over time the women realized that they were going to have to live the rest of their lives with these other women. Now, sixteen years later, the women work and live together. They mostly farm to support themselves and their combined work together helps them exist. It’s truly an amazing system of reconciliation. It takes almost super-human ability to forgive the transgressions of the genocide but these women were able to do it.

The visit, as Robbie remarked, was the first overwhelmingly positive thing we had done on the trip so far. After all the monuments to the genocide it was really great to see how actual people are dealing with issues of forgiveness. Everyone on our trip left feeling happy and positive for probably the first time this trip.

That night we all decided we were craving food from home as we were growing quickly tired of rice and beans. There was an “American” restaurant in town so we all got burgers, quesadillas, and croissants. It was a valiant attempt at American food and we were all very appreciative of the change in diet for one meal. Unfortunately the greasy food made some people queasy, but all in all I would say it was totally worth it.

We again had a sizeable sleepover at the convent and the next morning rose relatively early and made our way to the National University of Rwanda in Butare. Founded in the 70’s, I think, by the Belgians, I think, the University now has 12,000 students. The campus is very pretty with lots of greenery, gardens, and courtyards.

My favorite part of the university had to be the names of the dorms. Each student dorm, or hostel as they called them, was named after an important event at the time of their construction. The all-girls dorm was named “Vietnam,” another was “Cambodia” and the best of all was “Titanic,” not after the sinking of the Titanic, but because of the movie. I’m glad there were no more important events in the world at the time than Titanic. So great.

The dorms themselves were very interesting. In the US when we are possibly made to room with 3 people in a room we get frustrated. But think, each person gets their own bed, pretty great right? In Rwanda, the students might have two beds in a room, but that means that four people live there, they double up in the beds because the school wasn’t built to accommodate so many people! Think about that next time you get sick of your roommate.

After touring the dorms we went to a classroom and had a conversation with the University’s Reconciliation Club. I was expecting them to be very open and honest with our questions about the university and how the Hutu and Tutsi students interact. When we talked to them though they very much took the government line in claiming that everything was all right and that there was no animosity at all between any of the students. We were told that if any students expressed “genocide ideology” they were taken before a committee and tried, and it sounded like they were most often expelled. The students were very eager to tell us that three people were expelled for this last year. The problem for me with this approach was two fold. First, it was very vague what constituted “Genocide Ideology.” I have been told that it is very easy for the government to accuse someone of this is they express any opposition to the current regime and it’s policies. Second, it seems hard to reconcile if instead of listening to opposing points of view and engaging in discourse, you simply banish opposing points of view from any sphere of discussion. I also feel like if someone feels hatred against a certain group, there is probably a reason behind it, rational or not, and preventing them from getting an education, and possibly a job, the hatred can only increase. I do realize that there are totally reasonable reasons to fear people who might express “genocide ideology” but after witnessing the Women at the Women’s cooperative I feel like interaction is the best way to change minds and overcome differences.

BACK TO KIGALI

After our visit to the university we hopped on the public bus and headed back to Kigali. I returned home to a house in mourning as my host grandmother had a stroke the day before and was in a coma. She is still in the hospital and I think I am visiting her today.

All right, in closing for this epically long entry (my apologies) I will end on a more lighthearted note than last time. In the past few days I have met two little baby boys around the house. One in a month old and lives in my compound and the other was probably a year or two old and was the son of a visiting aunt. I’m not sure if this is just total odd chance, but the boys were named Nasri and Fabregas. I mention this because Nasri and Fabregas are both players for Arsenal in the UK. Apparently, like the dorms at the university and the taxis around town, naming even a child after international idols or celebrities is totally commonplace. Another interesting discovery in Rwanda!

Urabeho,

Muzungu currently in Kigali, Rwanda

UPDATE

A Death in the Family

Today I went and visited my ailing host grandmother in the hospital. There were about twenty family members there who were visiting. Ashiraf, my host brother, and I went in together to see her. She had been in a coma for about three days after having a stroke.

After our visit we went back home and gathered mattresses for the family members who would be spending the night at the hospital. After dropping the mattresses of I went into town to meet a few people in my group for dinner, I wanted to get out of the house so my family didn’t have to worry about me while they had so much else going on. While I was at the Hotel des Milles Collines (from “Hotel Rwanda”) having a snack, I received a call from Ashiraf telling me that my host grandmother had died. I offered my condolences and after dinner headed home.

While I was walking down the hill to my house, I saw the road lined with cars. Large amounts of people were gathered outside the house. I walked into the courtyard to find probably fifty people all gathered in white chairs in the courtyard. In each room, groups of people were gathered to pay their respects to my grandmother. I have never seen anything like it. Apparently her body had been put into her room and people could stop in and pay their respects to her. Every family member and neighbor had come to the house. Incredible.

Also, in the Islamic tradition, once a person dies the funeral happens as soon as possible which is typically no more than 24 hours after their passing. So tomorrow the funeral is at 10 a.m. I am very interested to see how a funeral like this works. More to come…

Muzungu currently in Kigali, Rwanda

PICTURE POST TO COME SOON. I promise.

Uraho!

Wow. A lot to cover since my last post. I apologize for the large gap in time, I was in a hotel in Kampala for 4 days, then spent a day traveling to Rwanda, then a few days in another hotel in Kigali with infrequent online access and I am now living in a house without internet. It looks like I will be typing most of my posts in Word and then uploading them when I can to my blog. SOOOOO here goes the story of my nomadic past week.

The brief stay in UGANDA

I meet up with my group in Kampala at the Bat Valley hotel, also known locally as Bativa. All 28 of us arrived sometime on the September 4^th and settled in to our rooms, doubles equipped with mosquito nets, an often non-functioning TV, and bucket shower. I was in a room with Jason, a student from Loyola in Chicago who just also happened to be a retired Marine. He had spent two tours in Iraq after joining the USMC post 9/11 and was returning to finish up his schooling. He is studying abroad next semester as well… in Vietnam. We had the first night off so we hung out in the hotel and got to know as much of the group as we could, amazing how hard 28 names can be to remember.

The next morning we began our SIT orientation, the essentials of surviving in large African metropoli. All the “don’ts”: drink the tap water, be scared by the big guns and soldiers, ride the motorcycles; and the “do’s”: lock your bags, take your malaria pills, have fun! These sessions also addressed the more serious side of things like dealing with the horrors we might hear about or see when looking into the genocide in Rwanda and the civil war in Uganda. We spent every morning discussing these issues and then we generally had to afternoons to ourselves to explore Kampala.

The first afternoon we had they put us into two matatus (taxi buses) and drove us to the center of Kampala. Our mission: Get home alive in 3 hours max. Daunting at first but in reality not that hard a charge. Many of us first went to change money, which makes you feel really good. The exchange rate is 2272 Ugandan Shillings to the dollar, cash money. Most of us then went and purchased Ugandan cell phones, a process that took 13 of us a good hour to accomplish, but I finally had a link to the outside world. Next mission, Internet. For about fifty cents I was able to get thirty minutes of Internet. Note well, you get what you pay for when you pay fifty cents at “God’s Will” Internet café in Kampala. I was able to send one email to my parents over a thirty-minute span and not for lack of trying.

Some observations about Kampala: First, the Ugandan people as a whole are the most friendly and helpful people I have ever encountered. I have heard many people say that they travel abroad and are struck by the rudeness of the locals somewhere or how some people always seem to be asking for something. In Kampala, every passerby offers a smile or a hello and if you look lost, someone offers guidance. It is very easy to find your way around the city if you have a landmark in mind and the confidence to ask a stranger where the heck it is. Second, the traffic is insane. Crossing the road is like a live game of Frogger except the trucks are overloaded matatus, and the cars are overloaded trucks and you add the extra element of overconfident motorcycles. Third, I have never seen so many firearms wielded so openly. Every third shop has a shotgun/ AK-47/ various assault rifle equipped security officer and soldiers roam the streets in packs. Apparently this is due to violence surrounding the upcoming elections as well as due to the bombings in Kampala at the end of the World Cup this summer. It succeeded in making me feel very comfortable while walking around while at the same time being scared senseless every time I grazed by an AK carrying Ugandan.

All right, enough frightening my mother. The next afternoon we went out with a Ugandan friend, Freddie to a bar that ended up being mostly mzungus, then we ended up at the National Theatre of Uganda for a “Jam-Session” with lots of Reggae influence. One in our number happened to be a singer and so after very little persuasion she talked her way in front of the mike and sang a song or two. We proceeded to embarrass ourselves by dancing with an obvious lack of rhythm. Post- dancing we decided to satiate our appetites with some Ugandan street food, Rolexes. Rolexes are chipati (East-African tortillas), egg, and tomato and also delicious.

The next few nights were spent in as our lack of sleep was catching up with us and a few in our number were falling ill, yours truly not excluded. On the 8^th, half of us arose at 5:15 a.m. and piled on a bus with all of our belongings. Our quest for Rwanda was at hand.

The Quest for RWANDA: “African Massage” and “Checking the tires”

Our group of twenty-eight had been divided into two groups of fourteen for the remainder of our trip. So thirteen of my new closest friends and I now were on the road to Rwanda. In Africa the roads are not always as bad as one might think, but that is not always the case. When the roads get rough, you simply laugh and refer to the experience as “African Massage.” Our vehicle of choice was a coach bus of sorts commonly referred to as a “Coaster.” Most of our crew chose to sleep for the first two hours and by then we had reached the first landmark of our twelve-hour journey, The Equator! I have been fortunate enough to cross the Equator in Ecuador so to do it again in Africa was great. Much less pomp around this one, just two markers on either side noting the feature and a few equator stores and cafés, compared to the whole “Mitad del Mundo” complex in Quito. Our Academic Director (AD) Stephanie was quick to hurry us out of there and keep trucking.

Necessary side note: In my everyday life I tend to consume large amounts of water, this hasn’t changed in Africa and I have quickly gained the reputation in my group for drinking at least eight bottles of water a day. This has its obvious drawbacks on a twelve-hour bus ride. Stephanie told us that if we ever needed to take a relief break on the drive, that we were to ask to “check the tires.” In Uganda, “checking the tires” by the side of the road is commonplace, Ugandans are a very open people. But in Rwanda, the culture is much more reserved and people look down on such actions, needless to say, bladders suffered.

A few stops were made in Uganda, mainly for lunch and a few relief breaks, and in 9 hours we were at the border with Rwanda. After a forty-five minute crossing, we were on the road (which in Rwanda is on the right as opposed to on the left in Uganda).

Rwanda is a majestic country. The first thing I was struck by was the abundance of green. Uganda was a country that certainly didn’t lack vegetation but everything in Rwanda is green and vibrant in the countryside. I was also amazed at use of the land. Every hill was covered in terraced fields and every valley floor was a farm. The Rwandan people here have made use of every part of the land. It is wonderful for their development and economy but it was kind of disappointing to see environmentally.

About two hours after crossing the border we reached Kigali, capital of Rwanda, and our home for the next month. We piled out of the van and into our hostel for the next two nights. I was feeling very under the weather, skipped out on dinner and slept for 12 hours. I arose feeling much better, and went off to our first Kinyarwanda class.

Fortunately our hostel happened to be a mere 200 meters from SIT Kigali Headquarters where all of our classes take place. We had our language class in the garage, which is nicer than it sounds. Our professor, Jean Pierre, is a highly energetic person who makes you want to do well in his class. Unfortunately, his class is insanely difficult. The grammar in Kinyarwanda is very simple from what I understand (which isn’t much). The vocabulary is absurd though. I am too used to European based languages at this point. Simple example: the word for “no” is “Oya,” pronounced “Oh-Yeah.” “Perhaps” is “birashoboka,”and “village” is “Umudugudu.” Oh! You want to know how to say 7656? “Ibihumbi birindwi na magana atandatu na mirongo itanu na gatandatu.” Easy right?

Reality

Through out the language learning we get some important bursts of reality though to remind us why we are here. On Friday we went to the Kigali Genocide memorial. It is a beautiful house set up on a hillside of Kigali. The outside is a series of memorial gardens and then three rows of mass graves. Over 250,000 genocide victims remains rest here, a staggering number as over 800,000 people are thought to have been killed in 1994. The inside gives a detailed history of the lead up to the genocide, the genocide and touched briefly on post-genocide reconciliation. Some people in our group thought it did not point enough fingers at those who could have done more to prevent the genocide, especially the French and the UN. I agree with their concern but at the same time, this is a memorial for the dead and not a political soapbox. There were many videos of survivors who told their stories of escape and of those they lost. They also had a room full of pictures of those who were killed. It is hard to imagine the individual victims when you are presented with a number as large as 800,000 but the museum did what it could to make the victims individuals. There was once section devoted to children killed that really brought that message home. It was a hallway with large pictures of the children and a plaque reading: the name of the child, age when they were killed, favorite food, last words, and cause of death. Truly brutal. I cannot comprehend how a grown man could willingly bludgeon to death a three-year-old child merely because she is of a supposedly different race from him. The most frustrating last words were “UNAMIR will save us.” The final hallway was a museum of genocides past: Armenians, Angolans, Serbians, Jews, and Vietnamese. Pretty horrible history the world has going on there.

Depressing end to things there, but I don't have the time to finish all of my thoughts yet but I have more to tell about my past few days. I head off to Butare early tomorrow but I will update you on that among other things in the next post!

Wonderfully eager hospitality

So as I mentioned earlier, I was/ am exhausted after my trip. So I lay down and sleep for three solid hours before I get a phone call:

"Hello?"
"Hello, Mr. Taylor. Are you ok?"
"Yes, thank you."
"Alright."

Then he hangs up!

An hour later I get another call.

"Yes?"
"Hello, Mr. Taylor. Are you alright?"
"Yes, very much so. Why do you ask?"
"Well, we were just concerned that you had not asked for any of our services yet. We hope you are well."

So I then had to explain my lack of sleep, I am now dreading/ eagerly awaiting the next phone call as they disrupt my much needed sleep but are beyond entertaining to receive. I love the kindness of the Ugandan people already!

Now for my first meal in Uganda... I can't wait!

-Mzungu still in the AVH and only a little less tired thanks to hospitality that goes above and beyond.

Well hello there, Uganda

I made it, and so did my bags, so all in all I would consider my trip here a success.

I left New Hampshire on the 1st of September and bid my wonderful grandparents goodbye. My grandfather's parting advice will undoubtedly guide me through these next few months:

"You have been a great grandson so far... don't screw it up now."

Parting shot of Mimi and Grandpa

I spent the night just out side of Boston with my Aunt and Uncle and cousin Jared. Aunt Ann cooked us a magnificent send off feats topped off by some spectacular brownies that I have with me in Uganda as I write (don't count on them lasting too much longer). I left from Boston in the wee hours of the morning, bid a teary adieu to my wonderfully supportive parents, and spent the next six hours on a plane to London with a five-year-old kid kicking the back of my seat the entire way. Two hour turn around in London and off to Entebbe, a flight on which sleep unfortunately evaded me again.

Uganda is beautiful. I unfortunately did not get any pictures of my descent into the country but take my word for it, magnificent rolling hills, green all the way to the horizon and Lake Victoria is simply majestic. As we landed I could see the little wood and reed fishing boats beginning (or ending) their fishing rounds for the day. Immigration was a breeze. I had made a reservation with a hotel named, appropriately might I add, the Airport View Hotel (AVH). They had promised to pick me up and take me the 10 minutes to the hotel. I couldn't find them at first and I was set upon by particularly persistent cab drivers who insisted that they weren't coming to get me and that for a mere $10 US they would happily take me to the AVH. Fortunately my unusually stubborn attitude (must have been the lack of sleep) won out and the AVH people finally found me.

I am now enjoying the benefits of their free Internet (yay) and soon their bed as I am exhausted.

That's it for me now. Sleep beckons. Please do comment on the post if there are certain things you wish to hear about or certain things your really don't. This is my first time taking on a blog so any feedback is good feedback. Thanks.

-Mzungu currently in the Airport View Hotel in Entebbe, Uganda.

p.s. I don't understand why they don't call it the Victoria View Hotel, it has a pretty solid view of Lake Victoria and I feel like that might have a better ring to it? Call me crazy but...

Oh, and... Mosquito net! Take that malarious mosquitoes.